During that month Richard left London for Northampton. It seemed certain now that Henry Tudor would make another attack with the coming of better weather. Richard must be prepared. Until Henry Tudor was dead there would be no peace for him, he realised. Henry Tudor wanted the throne and he was going to do everything he could to gain it. Moreover there were many who would help him in this endeavour. Richard was surrounded by people whom common sense forced him to doubt.
Norfolk, Lovell, Ratcliffe, Catesby, Brackenbury ... those he believed he could trust with his life. But there were others who filled him with doubt. The conduct of Buckingham and Hastings had made him distrustful, suspicious of everyone.
He longed for peace. He was a born administrator. He wanted to encourage trading as Edward had. That was the sure way to prosperity. A country wasted its substance in war.
There were other anxieties. Anne’s health was failing. She was so easily tired. He was worried about his son too. Anne had sent him back to Middleham because she thought it was better for him to be there. Her thoughts went with him though, and although she made a great effort to accompany Richard and smile at the people and appear to be merry he was aware of what a great effort it was and how very tired she felt.
They were halfway through April when the messenger came from the North. He was brought immediately to the King and Richard knew at once that the news was bad.
‘Have no fear,’ he said. ‘Tell me quickly.’
‘My lord, it is the Prince.’
‘He is ill ...’
The man looked at him silently.
Richard turned away to hide his emotion. ‘He is dead,’ he said slowly. ‘My son is dead.’
‘My lord, I fear ... it is so.’
‘I will tell the Queen,’ said the King; he waved his hand in dismissal and the messenger glad to escape hurriedly left.
Anne valiantly tried to suppress her desolation. It was impossible. For a time she gave up all pretence that she was well. She sank to her knees and covered her face with her hands.
He tried to comfort her, but there was no comfort. This delicate boy, whom they had loved even more tenderly because they had suffered constant fear for him, was lost to them.
He had suffered from the same disease which had afflicted both Warwick’s daughters, and meant that they could not hope for any but a brief life span.
They had cherished him – their Prince of Wales, their heir to England ... and now he was gone.
And looking at Anne, so desolate in her grief, Richard wondered how soon it would be before he was mourning his wife.
The future was grim. The Scots were giving trouble on the border now that Richard was no longer there to keep them in check. The King of France was showing friendship to Henry Tudor. Richard knew he must get his hands on that man. If he could capture him and bring him to England, get rid of him, then they might settle to peace. He sent men to Brittany to capture Henry Tudor, but Morton had his spies in England. Among them was Rotherham who was able to inform Morton of what was planned. Morton then warned Henry Tudor in time so that he escaped into France. Morton was a dangerous enemy. Richard knew that now and cursed himself for not destroying him when he was in his hands. He was far more dangerous than Hastings would ever have been.
He was indeed more dangerous than Richard knew. He had heard of Richard’s instructions to Brackenbury and thought that if everything went according to plan that act might be of considerable use to him.
Morton had staked his future now on Henry Tudor’s victory and if he could bring about the marriage between Elizabeth of York and Henry Tudor he would be delighted with his plans. If that marriage ever came about and it was to be effective those little Princes would have to be disposed of. So they had been kept out of the way at Richard’s request. Well, that might be useful. It would give credence to the story that they were already dead. He was sorry that Elizabeth Woodville had come out of Sanctuary with her daughters. That was unfortunate on two counts. First if she had believed that Richard had murdered the Princes – her little sons of whom she was so fond, for whatever else she was she was a devoted mother – she would never have put her daughters in his hands. Another fear – and perhaps an even greater one – was that Richard might find husbands for the girls. Then the marriage between Elizabeth and Henry Tudor could not take place and would the people accept Henry Tudor if by doing so they were not going to unite the houses of York and Lancaster?
We need to move fast, thought Morton. And yet how could they? They must be absolutely sure of success when they came in.
The weary year was passing. Henry Tudor had made no attempt to land. Clearly he was not ready.
Richard guessed there were traitors all about him. One morning there was discovered on the door of St Paul’s a rhyme which could only spell treachery:
It was a criticism of the King and ran:
‘The Cat, the Rat, and Lovell our dog
Rule all England under a hog.’
The Cat was Catesby, the Rat Ratcliffe and Lovell – a name frequently used for dogs – was Francis Lovell – all faithful friends. And the hog was himself taken from the sign of the Boar on his staff.
The rhyme was traced to William Colynbourne who had been an officer in the household of the Duchess of York. Richard was deeply wounded not only by the criticism of his rule but because this man had been one of his family’s servants. Colynbourne had committed a greater sin than writing seditious doggerel verse. He was found guilty of sending messages to Henry Tudor giving the state of the defences of England.
He was accorded the traitor’s death and suffered cruelly on Tower Hill.
One urgent need was staring Richard in the face, and that was the importance of getting an heir. There had always been anxiety about Edward’s health and he and Anne had longed for another child. She had been so delicate that he had begun to feel that they would never have another and while they had the young Prince they could put their hope in him. But now he was gone. Moreover Anne’s health had deteriorated rapidly since the death of Edward. It was clear that a great interest had been taken out of her life and she felt so ill now that she could no longer disguise it.
Richard called in the doctors.
Could they not do something? Surely their skill was not beyond helping her.
They shook their heads.
‘It is a disease of the lungs, my lord. The Queen cannot recover. She can only grow progressively worse.’
The physicians were uneasy and he was aware that there was something else they wished to say to him. They hesitated, each waiting for the other to speak.
At last one of them said: ‘My lord, the Queen’s disease in these stages is contagious. You should no longer share a chamber with her.’
The implication of this was obvious. He and Anne would never have another child.
He explained gently to Anne. She understood. She said: ‘I can’t have long left, Richard. Bear with me for these few weeks. Then when I am gone you must marry again ... marry a healthy young woman who can give you sons.’
He shook his head. ‘There would never be anyone else I could love as I do you. Oh I know I have not told you often enough, not shown you. It is my way.’
‘I know ... I know and I would not have had you otherwise. You have been good to me always ... and it was always you I wanted. Do you remember, Richard, when we were together in those early days at Middleham?’
‘I have never forgotten them. For that reason I have always loved Middleham. I would we could be there now ... together ... with our son ...’
‘Time passes, Richard. We have had some bad times ... I shall never forget those days I spent in that hot and foul-smelling kitchen ... Sometimes it comes back to me now ... I dream ... and I wake up and am thankful that that is over. But we must look to the future. When I am gone ... I want you to be happy, Richard.’